Lovely Lady
by Dudeybob
Summary: It's 1888, the East End of London and a dangerous killer stalks the streets. One who does not simply kill his victims, but rips them inside out. The Doctor will always tell Amy not to wander off and she will always ignore him, until she realises the rules are not just there to be broken.


**A one shot set when it was just Amy and the Doctor travelling together. **

Amy followed the Doctor from the TARDIS,already imagining what she would see when she stepped out of the blue doors. Perhaps the year 3000 where people really would swim under water, like that old Busted song. Or maybe she'd find a whole new world, one even the Doctor had not yet explored with entire new species that she had never encountered, or a city made from spreadable cheese, which the Doctor swore to her existed, although Amy was sure he must have been making that one up.

Maybe she'd even see her parents, just as she had been longing to since she was seven years old and learned the box the man fell out of the sky in was a time machine. She'd asked on several occasions about meeting them, but the Doctor had told her on no uncertain terms that was the one thing he could never give her. When Amy had asked why, he'd rambled on about old companions, cars, interference and holes in time and space. The last time she had asked, he had fixed her with such a dark, intense stare that she had not broached the subject since.

What Amy was not expecting to see as she stepped out of the doors of the TARDIS, the excitement still rushing through her as if it were her very first trip, was the street of stinking houses that met her senses. Even with the night that had fallen over the sky, Amy could see the filth. She could _smell _it. The street was crowded with people, many staggering around drunk, others slinking in the shadows not wanting to be seen. Even children ran around in just t-shirts, their legs streaked with dirt and grime. The homeless dotted the pavements, even slouched across roads. Some stepped over them and other simply stepped on them. It was the single most dirty, run down place Amy had ever been and she had travelled the universe in a box.

"East End of London!" The Doctor announced, as though he had taken her to Renaissance Paris. "Oh." He wrinkled his nose at the stench, but took a great long sniff. "Late 1800s." He sniffed again. "1888 if you're going to be picky. Early November."

He strode ahead of her, stepping over the legs of a drunk slumped in the street. It was late and the chatter and thuds from the pubs rang through the streets, but no one leaned out of their windows to complain about the noise, it was obviously the norm. "Come along, Pond!" He called over his shoulder, sensing she wasn't following him. Amy rolled her eyes and bounced after him, wishing they could just get back in the TARDIS and go some place else. Rome, perhaps.

"And stay close," he warned, sternly, as if did not give the same command every time they stepped out of the box. "There's a murderer on the loose." Now that, was new.

…

The pub, if possible, was worse than the streets. It was so crowded with people that it was hard for Amy to manoeuvre through them without having beer splashed all down her top and most of the men, and even some women, glared leeringly down it, peering at her cleavage. Amy pulled it up as much as she could and shot a balding, fat one a look of disgust. He raised his pint to her in reply and winked. The stench of sweat and alcohol filled her mouth and nose so strongly that she gagged and covered both with her hand, doing her best not to breathe it in.

She pushed past a young woman who looked no older than herself in the middle of seducing a middle aged man into going home with her, towards the Doctor yelling merrily at the barmaid. "Sounds like a right nutter," he bellowed. "Still, not as bad as the naked nose picker who tried to mug me on Zoid. Well, I say _tried,_" he took a large gulp of the pint she slammed in front of him, sloshing half of it over the edges. "Never did get that bow tie back."

Amy slung her arm around his shoulders and held her mouth close to his ear. "We're getting out of here!" The noise in the pub was enormous, considering it was only a pub. A wooden instrument band played some kind of Irish music and several punters screamed with cackling laughter at any given moment. Many sang old folk songs loudly and out of tune, slurring the words and stopping mid lyric to belch and a drunk preached on a table.

The Doctor took another gulp of beer and shook her head. "Don't be silly Pond, we've only just got here."

"Of all the whole wide universe, you actually want to sit in a smelly pub and drink beer!"

He turned away from the barmaid with a wink and grinned at Amy. "You know me, always the adventurer. The universe can wait, I've never done this before."

Amy rolled her eyes and groaned in frustration. "There's a pub in Ledworth if that's what you really want, but we just have to get out of here." But the Doctor was not even listening to her, he had turned his attention back to the barmaid whose dress, although long and Victorian, left little to the cleavage to the imagination.

With a growl of anger, Amy slammed her palms down on the bar and disappeared into the crowd along with the sound.

"Not too far!" The Doctor called after her, but his voice was soon stopped, his words drunk in by the barmaid's mouth and Amy vanished, completely unaware that he had spoken at all.

…

A musty smell hung in the air outside the pub. It was one of smoke and decay, the two key things also visible on the street. Smoke spiralled from chimneys, out of cigars hanging from the mouths of passers by. It poorly masked the stench of stale urine and vomit and Amy wrinkled her nose again, hoping she would soon be used to it enough to stop smelling it. Growing up in the country meant she had a lot of experience with strange, horrible smells that lingered in the air and caught on to clothes, but the East End of London was something else entirely.

Amy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. It was early November, the Doctor had said, and having expected other worlds, she had not dressed accordingly. Her usual short denim skirt hugged her thighs, matched with a red tank top and her leather jacket, which was doing little to protect her from the bitter midnight wind. Grumbling to herself, Amy walked up the street to warm up. Of course the Doctor had told her not to wonder off, but he had also told her they were going 'some place with magic' and the only conformity to that promise was the locals' amazing ability to steal a wallet in the flash of a second it took to pass by a stranger.

She stormed down the filth covered pavement, very aware of all the looks she was getting, especially from the men. She was used to stares in her old job, but there was something about _those _stares that set her teeth on edge. The back of her neck pricked and she shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold. Several times Amy spun around, poised to defend herself, but although busy, no one was paying her too much unwanted attention.

To her relief, she came to a side street that looked far less crowded and she ducked into it, escaping the looks and wolf whistles that made her wish she'd worn a floor length fur coat and a chastity belt. The absence of so much as a street lamp made it hard to walk over the cobbles in her short heels, but Amy was so eager to get away from the street that she moved quickly, not even stopping when she stumbled and lunged for the wall to steady herself.

The disturbed feeling did not go away, even when she reached another turning and shot down it, sure that the further away she got from that street, the better she would feel. For the first time since she had began travelling with him, Amy found herself wishing she had listened to the Doctor when he had told her not to wonder off. The pub was loud and full of drunks, but at least he had been there. She would have been safe if she had stayed with him.

Despite her fears, Amy stormed (as much as she could in the heels) down the cobbled street. She did not _need _the Doctor to function, she did not need him every time she wanted to go for a walk or explore a new place. She had proved over and over again that she could stand on her own feet, she had proved it when he had promised her five minutes and turned up fourteen years later. She proved it even travelling when he failed to show up on time. She would never stop believing in him, but the days for _depending _on him were behind her.

"Pond," said a voice from behind her, lined with a smile. "What did I tell you about wondering off?"

Amy grinned and swung around to match the face, hiding her relief behind a raised eyebrow. "What did I tell _you _about wanting to leave?" She teased, striding past him, back up the alleyway with all the confidence as if she owned the place.

The smile faded from the Doctor's lips as he watched her bound childishly ahead of him. "Oh Pond," he muttered, only loud enough for the night to hear. "When are you going to learn it's me who makes the rules?"

…

The Doctor unglued himself from the barmaid's face just long enough to realise he could not see Amy in the crowd. Normally, it would not panic him; there were a lot of people in the pub, enough so she could easily be hidden in the sea of bodies. But it was 1888, the East End of London and it was Amy. Although fine in the 21st century, her clothes could be considered to be a little too daring in the 19th. Add a prostitute killer to the list and it was enough to have him leaning over the heads of the crowd in search of her familiar flaming red hair.

"Excuse me, sorry..." The Doctor's apology trailed off as he realised he did not know the barmaid's name. "Drucilla," he invented, deciding it sounded 1800s enough to pass. 'Drucilla' raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowed and it was then that the Doctor decided to make a hasty retreat a look for Amy. "I'm just going to go and look for my...friend," he yelled and bolted through the crowd as Drucilla screamed abuse at his retreating back.

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, he had to come to the conclusion that Amy most definitely was not in the pub. He even asked several punters if they'd seen a Scottish ginger girl with a temper, but most of them had just loudly roared about 'lucking out', which was most unhelpful. Muttering to himself about her wandering habits and intoxicated men, he stormed out of the pub in search of her.

As soon as he stepped onto the street, he knew it was a place he would not want to find her. Those who were still lurking the streets in the small hours of the morning were not a friend to a young woman in a short skirt, especially not in the East End of London. He tried not to think about what he knew about the East End as he strode down the street, calling for Amy. He tried not to think about how often women were murdered in those streets, so often, in fact, that Jack the Ripper had been the first one to be really taken seriously by the police and only because of how he mutilated his victims.

He especially tried not to think about how Jack was still out there, yet to complete his set of victims.

…

The Doctor was behaving strangely. He didn't stride along beside her as he normally did, boring her to death with facts about everything (and usually, everyone) they passed. Instead he lurked behind her, walking slowly so she was forced to slow down too, unwilling to be lost alone in the winding streets once again. Finally, she stopped, swinging around abruptly, her eyes narrowed.

"What's the matter with you?" She demanded, linking her arm through his. "Are you still huffy that I went too far?" She squeezed his arm in silent apology, although she knew she would do it again as soon as she had another opportunity. Just maybe not in old London streets. She pouted, and swung her free arm by her side like a child.

With a movement a sudden as a spitting cat, the Doctor seized her shoulders and slammed her against the side wall of a house. Amy's eyes flew wide in shock, she did not even notice that it hurt, she was too focused on the tight grip he had on her shoulders, his fingers pressing hard into her shoulder blades. But it was something in his expression that scared her the most. His features were hard, cold. Nothing like those of her Doctor.

All her anger faded and then she was just afraid. She was scared of the man whose grip was so tight she could feel the bruises colouring her skin. "Doctor," she said, as if saying his name could bring back the one she knew, the one who had fallen from the sky when she was just a kid and promised her five minutes. The one who had finally turned up, just early enough to save her from the wedding she had regretted planning, the one who called her 'Pond' and said her name was from a fairy tale. Why did she not use that name anymore? The Doctor's fairy tale name.

"I told you not to go too far." His voice was low and quiet, intended for her ears only although there was no one else on the street to hear them. "But you didn't listen. You're going to get yourself in trouble." It was the way he said it. It was almost ironic, as if the future tense should be the present.

"Get off me," Amy said through her teeth, but it was fear rather than anger that glued them together. She could not be angry, not when his behaviour was so utterly bewildering to her. She tried weakly to shove him away, but his grip was strong. So strong, that it was difficult to move her arms at all.

His arms shifted, one moving across her chest like an iron bar that held her firmly in place while the other moved in the dark and Amy lost sight of it. She did not see what he reached for, but she felt it when the blade was pressed against her throat. She felt it, but she did not believe it. She was having a nightmare, a crazy, real, nightmare. Perhaps she'd sat down to rest and fallen asleep on the street, it would have been easy for her frightened mind to run away with her.

But the blade felt so cold, so sharp against her skin it could be nothing but real. In a dream, you could not smell the stench of decay quite so strongly. The fear did not go so deep that it made you physically shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the biting midnight wind. In a dream, you could not see such a savage, twisted look engraved into features you had known since you were a child, so detailed that she knew there and then that the Doctor with a weapon against her neck was as real as the one who had fallen out of the sky in a blue box.

"You should have stayed close," he spat and the coldness of the blade spread right through her.

"Ah! There you are and I see you've already made a new friend!" It was the Doctor's voice, again, coming from behind himself.

The Doctor with the knife and the dark look in his eyes spun around, but did not remove the weapon from her neck and over his shoulder, Amy saw another version of the same man. A version who was wearing a look of cold fury that was so different from the look of the weapon wielding one. That Doctor's anger was one she _had _seen so many times before, the protective anger he wore when she was threatened.

"But I think play time's over now."

The other Doctor turned back to Amy without the slightest change of expression. "I don't think so," he said, pressing the blade in hard enough to sting, but it did not break the skin. "Play time's not even begun."

Amy turned her head to the dark, empty road up ahead so she did not have to look into those angry, cold eyes any longer. Eyes that did not belong to her Raggedy Doctor. She didn't look, but she could still feel the cool of the blade, the iron grip that held her against the wall, his icy breath that fogged the blade against her neck.

"I am asking you now to leave her alone. Let her go or you will not like what happens." The cold Doctor's only response is to scrunch his fist around her shirt and tug her away from the wall so he could shove her back into it, hard. The shock of it made her gasp, the side of her head connecting with the concrete, but still she did not turn around.

"I don't think you'll do anything," the Cold Doctor teased in a calm and luring voice. "Because any move you make, I can retaliate and in a flash of a second, her blood will soak us both."

Finally, Amy twisted her head, but not to look at the Cold Doctor with her death in his hands, but past him, at her Raggedy Doctor, the one who could fix anything. But she did not see the man who climbed out of the box and got rid of the crack on her wall. She did not see the Handyman sent by Santa who had been her imaginary friend throughout her lonely, loveless childhood. She saw a helpless, ordinary mad man with a box, one who couldn't save her because the Cold Doctor was right. He could only stop him at her sacrifice.

"Why me?" She blurted, finally daring to look into the cold eyes. "I'm just a girl in the street. I'm not even from this place, I'm not from this time, why me?" It started off as a distraction, a stall for the Doctor to think of something to do, something at the last minute when all seemed impossible, because that was what he did, but only when the question had left her lips did Amy realise she truly did need to know. If she was going to be murdered, she had to understand _why. _

But when he answered, she wished he hadn't. "Because you were here." His answer set a cold shiver shuddering through her that she could not stop. Goosebumps erupted on her skin and her teeth knocked together, but she kept his gaze, glaring at him with all the fury that was burned into his own eyes. "You travel with just one man, one man who was too busy with a stranger to worry that you walked into the night. He knew there was a killer around, he knew about the other girls and what happened to their bodies, but he still let you go."

"You-_he_ told me not to go far." She gritted her teeth and scorched a hole with her fury.

"And _you _didn't listen, as he must have known you wouldn't. But still the barmaid's mouth was more important. All those women, I chose them for a reason. Not because they were whores, but because no one would miss them. The focus would be on _me _and not the pathetic_ victims. _You ran away without saying goodbye, because there was no one to say goodbye to. I chose you, Amelia Pond, because you are alone."

She kicked him because she hated the truth in his words. She kicked him because he held a knife to her throat. She kicked him because her Doctor could no nothing. She kicked him because she had waited for her imaginary friend for too long. She kicked him because perhaps he really wasn't the hero she had dreamed off. Maybe he was just a game. But she kicked him hard in the crutch, her shin slamming hard where it would hurt the most. This Doctor was not human, he was not even a person, but he had the body of one and he still crumpled. The knife cut through her skin as he fell, sliding across her collar bone, but it was nothing like the wound she could have had.

Amy didn't see what happened next. She clamped her hand over the stinging cut and lent used the wall to support herself, only realising when he was gone that the Cold Doctor had been holding her up. All she knew was in the next moment her was gone and not a trace of him remained on the street. Even the knife was nowhere in sight. Only her Doctor still stood there, his screwdriver pointed to an empty space wearing the same look as her thoughts spoke.

"Where did he go?" She finally asked as the Doctor lowered his screwdriver. He didn't look at her. "Unknown transportation. He could be anywhere in the universe. On another planet, scattered through the stars, sucked into a black hole or around the corner."

"Will he be back?"

The Doctor shook his head, still staring at the empty space by her feet. "The last Ripper murder was on the ninth of November in the early hours of the morning. Somewhere not far from here is the mutilated body of a woman. We're lucky it wasn't two."

They walked back to the TARDIS in silence. Neither even mentioned where they were going, they just knew that they were most definitely done in the East End of London. Had they gone an hour ago, they would be in another universe having extraordinary adventures rather than walking with six feet between them, not touching, not speaking, not even looking. It was still too strange. Amy could not look at him without seeing the cold eyes that had held her against that wall.

"He was a shape shifter," the Doctor told her once they were safe inside the box. "Genius really, a murderer who can transform in to anyone. The policeman who patrolled the streets at night, the innocent child from across the street, the person the victim trusted the most. Every murder done by somebody different, never the same witness accounts, never the same evidence, never the same clues. Utterly undetectable to anyone who doesn't believe in monsters."

Amy just nodded because she could think of nothing else to say. Her mind was too filled with the words of the killer who had almost taken her.

"So, where to next?" The Doctor yelled, suddenly cheerful, but Amy was in no mood to play along. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowing at the grin that covered most of his face and the twinkle of the universe in his eyes.

"You're really you?" She whispered, as if saying the words too loudly could make them untrue.

He nodded. "Yes, Amelia, I'm really me."

Amy dropped her hand from her chest, ignoring the blood smeared across both and launched herself across the TARDIS and into him. She did not care that she was staining his shirt with her blood or that she ran into him so hard that they both stumbled. She did not care that he had let her go, even when he knew the dangers, because she had too and she'd still gone. He had been there at the last moment, he had been there so she realised just on time that she had to save herself, and she could ask nothing more of him.

She was most definitely not alone.


End file.
